Anti-Gravity

We danced among the stars,
And even when we came down
Our eyes were starry, our faces glowed.
We felt the star-crossed new-found love
Of newest friends.
It prevented us from turning
Against each other,
From spitting venom,
From sucking blood with our canines.
Until it didn't. And now we orbit in a void,
And our yells just disappear,
Swallowed by space. And the void shouts back.
Or is it an echo -
I wish I liked the sound. 
But we had our pick
On that blue orbiting orb
For quite a while.
We are the dinosaurs.
We will leave glyphs in the layers,
Submit to interpretation,
Attain significance.

Or, in this airtight chamber of my head,
Is that just my hubris nagging again.

It's You

After all, it's you, love.
After all the fear and drudgery.
I must be careful not to lay
Too much at your feet.

When you awaken, I’ll hold you,
Sit you in my lap to look around.
Forming every day,
On my lap you sway, a beautiful dreamer.

Although to you they are mere sensations,
To me they are: he loves my kisses!

This will have to be how I explain,
Until later.
Then my words will leave me.
And I'll sing you Bombadee,
And I think you'll see.

the nerve

Actual daily threadbare psychic pain.
Rooted in my brain.
Clinging from the other side.
The other side of what, I cannot know.
Perhaps the what itself
Is the blight, the distractor.
Though also a token source
Of daily pleasure,
Or at least of sensation.
The raw sort hurts so lovely
So long as it's gentle.
The smallest size on the grater,
The surface scratch.
I rub my eyes bare.

lost poems

Inundation of moral quandary.
Quagmire of significant choices:
Put another plastic in the sea?
The best lack all conviction. 
Judgment of a generation as poetry.

Sacrifice is succor via suffering.
Satisfaction is available,
But only to the moneyed and the free.
Death is no better whined at than withstood. 
Moral instruction encased in poetry.

An ancient city buried in the sea,
A museum of entombed fragility.
Testament to a truth that none shall see.
The fascination of our predicament - 
The envelope is scratched with poetry.

Spectral creatures pick at their snacks,
Which collect in pinches and cracks.
Their gazes are glazed and ghostly.
The sour breath shall vanish in a day. 
Most shall see somewhere some poetry.

ape planet

the constant crass inaction
of lonely boring people
with things stuck in our beards, 
beastly men. 
greedy mistakes. 
bobbleheads, 
quivering lobes, 
(life is in there, though!) 
what does it matter? 

maybe we're all connected, they say. 
our dna is in the milky way. 

i want to believe it, sure i do. 
other times i'm even sure i do. 

other times
the rags hang from the rafters. 
dirty, dripping, barestript, 
soak-streaked rags. 

Alfred Adler

That we are capable of remarking 

Is remarkable.

That you can turn and talk 

With your elbow partner. 

Sixth grade math is sacred, 

So please ask questions. 

Seek wisdom in elders, 

Give quarter to travelers.
The meaning of life is here,
In the space between us.